


Nothing Like You

by bpdcerberus



Series: Highschoolstuck AU [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bullying, Hate, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inferiority Complex, Insecurities, M/M, Sad Ending, Self Confidence Issues, Self Esteem Issues, Self Harm, Sibling Insecurity, Suicidal Thoughts, Twins, dylan is Davesprite btw, identity insecurity, invasive thoughts, sad shit, striders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:57:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bpdcerberus/pseuds/bpdcerberus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not him. Im nothing like him."<br/><br/>Snip. Another chunk of your pale blonde hair falls to the floor. You finish trimming your hipster swirl into a nice, normal short haired style. You quickly apply the bright orange dye into your pale blonde hair. Once it sets, you rinse your hair out in the shower aNd quickly dry it. It's bright ginger. Your grin just widens. You gel it up into a quiff, beaming into the mirror.<br/>"I'm Dylan. Not Dave."</p><p>https://soundcloud.com/rachel-patrick-7/sets/nothing-like-you-fanfiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inunoyodare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inunoyodare/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it all begins.

Your name is DYLAN STRIDER, and you HATE YOURSELF. Not exactly you, but the way people think of you. People just see you as a shadow of your more popular and outgoing twin, DAVE STRIDER. 

You're Dylan. Not Dave.

You grab your orange backpack and your 2.00$ for lunch and run out the door behind Dave. "Grrrr!! Don't leave me behind you fucker!!" You yell. Dave has run track for a long time. He's fast. He runs ahead and is already to the bus stop by the time you're halfway there. Dave looks at you with a smug grin on his face that you would REALLY like to smack off of him. But thus is the way of Dave Shithead Strider. Mess with Dylan and be a fuckwad. 

You really don't understand how he's so popular. Dave is a total coolkid jerk face who is probably only popular because of D. I mean, they look exactly alike! Sometimes you swear dave purposely dresses and acts like him just for the fame.

Not to mention he doesn't even use his popularity for good. You've been beaten up by his friends dozens of times. Dave knows. Dave doesn't care. Coolkids don't care about JACK SHIT apparently. Not even about his twin. Dave never smiles or laughs and ridicules you for doing so on occasion, when your day is actually going somewhat well enough to even allow you to speak without saying something you don't mean. He scolds you for liking life once in a while.

People always talk to you in the hall because they think you're him. They think you're Dave. They then figure out that you aren't Dave- you're Dave's brother. They don't even call you Dylan cause they don't know that's your name. To everyone else you are Dave's brother. You're Dave's twin. Dave's lookalike. It sickens you how the world could be so cruel. Not to mention the dicks at school who call you out and beat you senseless.

The bus finally arrives and you get on. Dave sits down with his clique and you sit as far away them as possible, taking out your phone and putting your earbuds in. You crank the volume to your favorite song. The odd but beautiful noises of the intro to XIX by Slipknot blast through your earbuds. The words Start soon after.

 _With my face_  
_Against the floor_  
_I can see you knocked me out_  
_Of the way_  
_I don't want_  
_To get back up_  
_But I have to_  
_So it might as well_  
_Be today_  
_Nothin appeals to me_  
_No one feels like me_  
_I'm too busy being calm to disappear_  
_I'm in no shape_  
_To be alone_  
_Contrary to the shit that you might hear_  
_So Walk with me_  
_Walk with me_  
_Don't let this symbolism_  
_kill your heart_  
_Walk with me_  
_Walk with me_  
_Just like we shoulda done right from the start_  
_Walk with me_  
_Walk with me_  
_Don't let this fucking world year you apart,_  
_No!!_

You sigh as the song ends. You love that song with all your heart. The bus turns a corner, running over the curb. Your bus driver is some fresh out of college stoner type guy. He (usually) isn't fucked off his rocker when he drives but today must be a pot day. Hm. You blink, catching yourself hoping the bus flipped on its side and you just.. Died. Not like it'd make a difference. 

When the bus finally pulls in front of your school you're already planning on how to get out of here without being stopped by campus police.yeah. Your schools so ghetto and crime prone it had guards at every entrance and patrolling the grounds and halls and such. There's 5 guards in all. 1 for each main entrance, one patrolling halls and 2 patrolling grounds. You quickly spot the two groundsman, planning on how to get out of there. You had a plan for today and it wasn't school. 

Your plan succeeds and you make your way home, putting your earbuds back in and blasting Twenty One Pilots. You arrive at the building, walking through the lobby and into the elevator, pressing the button for the 32nd floor. Huddling into the corner, you close your eyes and wait a whole ten minutes for the snail slow elevator to take you to the top floor. 

You slide your keycard through the little slot on the elevator and the door opens into the Strider penthouse. Both your eldest brothers are kinda fuckin rich. D is the oldest of your brothers. He's a movie producer, writer director AND an actor. Bro, your second oldest brother is uh.. Well he's kind of a pornstar. One of the most famous male pornstars in America. He also works a day shift at Starbucks.

You walk inside, walking into your room. D is out (like always. You haven't seen this particular brother in almost a year now. Three consecutive movies) and Bro is at work. Dirk, Hal and Dave are all (presumably) at school. You're all alone in the penthouse. You decide to tick off some neighbors with some epic fuckin guitar playing. Maybe some drums later. You pick up your tricked out neon orange and black electric, plugging it into the amp. You check the tuning before starting to play Viva La Gloria - Little Girl by Green Day and singing along. You've been taking guitar lessons since you were 9 and singing lessons since you were 10. A few other instruments you had lessons for (for no longer than 2 months) include cello, violin, viola, trumpet, bass guitar and flute. None of them were loud or playable enough. With guitar you could play rock or metal on electric and alt rock, pop and country on acoustic. Not that you listen to pop or country. That stuff is shitty as the brown goop itself.

You finish playing the song along with a few others. You set your guitar down and switch off the amp, pulling a box from under your bed. On to your plans for today, no?

You walk into the bathroom setting the box on the counter. Your hands shook a bit. 'This is happening. Hell yes. _Hell yes._ ' Thoughts race through your head.

YOur excitement shatters when you look in the mirror. All you see is _him!_ All you see is Dave. You don't see Dylan at all, you see _Dave._ YOu take the scissors in your hands and get to work, snipping at your hair.

"I'm not him. Im nothing like him."

Snip. Another chunk of your pale blonde hair falls to the floor. You finish trimming your hipster swirl into a nice, normal short haired style. You quickly apply the bright orange dye into your pale blonde hair. Once it sets, you rinse your hair out in the shower aNd quickly dry it. It's bright ginger. Your grin just widens. You gel it up into a quiff, beaming into the mirror.

"I'm Dylan. Not Dave."

After all that, you turn on your music, blasting it through the all-apartment speakers. You walk into the kitchen for some food, since it's about lunch time. As 'Low' by Sleeping with Sirens comes on, you sing alot as you make a sandwich, pour some soda and plop down at the counter. The tall barstool-like-chair doesn't let your feet touch the floor, reminding you again how short you are. That's one thing you and Dave do have in common- you're both only 5'2 as opposed to Dirk and Hal's 5'10.

You pull out your phone and flip on the camera, staring at yourself on the screen.

That's not Dave. It's Dylan. This is Dylan- this is you. Who you really are. You aren't just Dave's brother anymore. You're Dylan Strider and you aren't afraid to show it anymore.


End file.
